Screeching tires heard in the street it’s the new neighbours
Screeching tires heard in the street it’s the new neighbours that I have yet to meet, met them now, me them how, I feel like a kind of know them already, nothing like a 4 am wake up call to suprise your ass awake, shovel in hand, a thick black patch of syrup tire tread smeared across the street in a zig zag pattern left behind with a trail of smoke, a rednecktilian, firing stomping boots and all, old dodge with a massive headache rack, giggles and laughter heard from within the whip with a slight muffle of Pantera playing over the trucks cassette playa, player hate, got too white with the soviet talk, got to witty with the JC jokes, and trump dumps, who he thy be the gultiest, juice to a just world just in time for dinner, squille, seqel please, a screach, a mad dash, a lay of some rubber, no need to be the worriest, cause this little piggy ain’t going any-where, protected by the gods, willing to make the earth crack, welcome to the hood, glad you can rap, would have baked a cake but instead you laid this sweet patch, I love my new neighbours I know where I can go to borrow a cup of sugar or some ZZ Top maybe a cup of tea, good times, good laughter, kicked his boot right the fire, holy spirit shining down from the tip top race day.
Freewrite
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